Vengence in the West
by Spenney-Dee
Summary: Bretonnia is an ancient and forgotten land filled with magic and monsters. As Joffrey ascends to the throne, the game of thrones begins and war breaks out. The Lannisters move to claim Bretonnia's riches for themselves, whilst the Starks move against the Lannisters. Can old grudges be put aside? Will Bretonnia fight? Or perish?
1. Chapter 1: Two Brothers

Westeros. A land soiled by bloodshed and tyranny. Where hundreds die for the will of a few. In the ancient eras, men were not the ones who ruled these lands. The Old Gods reigned supreme, and the terrible monsters that served them stalked men. Many believe that such horrors are gone from the world. They are wrong. In the east, is a forbidden land, walled by a range of insurmountable mountains. The land stretches from north of The Twins, all the way down to the Southern Seas. Most maps are without the land, for no Westerosi has set foot there for a thousand years. Yet despite this, men still thrived. In the land of monsters, war stirs, and the eyes of the Lannisters turn to Bretonnia...

.

.

Along the mud track the horses trotted. Around them fires crackled, men rushing about. Tents were erected in orderly lines, their owners setting up the camp. Many saw the two men riding, nodding and shouting their respects to them. One rider ignored them completely, whilst the other returned the nods, smiling at the men.

"My lords!" A man in plate armour approached them. "Were you not here soon, I would have sent a party out to search for you!"

"You must forgive us," one of them smiled. "Our journey was delayed, as we had to pursue some bandits harassing a local hamlet!"

"What _I'm_ wondering is why the camp is still being established," grunted the second rider. "You've been here for two days, and the camp still hasn't been established! Where were the palisades and watchtowers? If you had been attacked, you'd be dead where you stood! This is a disgrace!"

"Forgive me, Baudouin," the man bowed. "Our army has only stopped arriving not an hour before your arrival."

"It is alright," the other man dismounted his horse, passing the reigns of his horse to a squire. "What is the situation?"

"Lord Duschane has betrayed your father by taking Castle Artois." Louen and Baudouin were brothers, the sons of Charlemagne Leoncoeur, the King of Bretonnia. Lord Duschane was the baron of one of the neighbouring provinces, but attacking and occupying anything outside of his fiefdom was treachery.

"How big is his army?" Baudouin also dismounted his steed, chainmail clinking as the three of them trudged through the mud.

"Not many, two hundred at most." General Moreau answered.

"Anything skyward?" Louen piped up. Out of the two brothers, Baudouin was the soldier. Louen was a skilled diplomat, and learned in many things. His brother, on the other hand, was a natural commander. It was as if he had been born in the heat of battle. Baudouin was a master tactician and fearless to charge into enemy lines. Together the brothers symbolised everything great that Bretonnia had to offer.

"Doubt it," Baudouin answered. "Duschane's land was too far from any eyries, plus he was never wealthy enough to afford any kind of mount."

"Always expect the unexpected, dear brother," Louen smiled, gazing towards the walled city. "What about the citizens inside?"

"Who cares?" Baudouin snorted. "They're just peasants." Baudouin retorted. "General! I want the river that flows through the town blockaded on both ends, Lord Duschane must not escape! At dusk, we begin our assault!"

.

.

"…And may the Lady hold me always," Louen mumbled, kneeling in his tent. "Should I fall this day, may She gather me in Her embrace, and fill me with the flame to live again." Now fully rested and wearing his armour, Louen exited into the afternoon air. The camp was more raucous, than ever. The men sharpening weapons, oiling bows, fucking the whores before one last time. Louen's ever-patient squire stood waiting at the lip of the tent. By his side was the prince's horse, now covered in a thick coat and metal plating.

"What do you think?" Louen asked. "Do you think that we should just simply storm the castle and kill all inside? What do the Knight's Vows and Code of Chivalry say?" The Bretonnian Vows and Code were much the same as the code that a Westerosi knight lived by, only it was much stricter, and one must live by them at all times, not when it suited them.

"The Vows that Lord Duschane took means that he must never betray his Royarch, lest he face the retribution."

"And what of the Code?"

"The Code states that one must be just, but merciful." Louen nodded, ruffling the lad's hair. "What do you plan, sire?"

"Fetch me a white flag, I plan to parlay with the Lord." Several standards were dotted around the camp. The sigils of various knights and nobles, House Leoncoeur, and, though few and far, white standards of surrender. Antön, Louen's squire, handed his master a lance, the banner tied to the top. At the edge of the rise, the siege engines that Baudouin had ordered be constructed were well underway. Huge portable shields that would shield the soldiers from whatever bolts and arrows would try to strike them down. Holding the lance above his head, Lord Louen Leoncoeur made his way down the hill towards the castle. The soldiers on the battlements readied their bows, aiming at the lone horsemen.

"Lord Tael Duschane!" Louen shouted towards the castle. "I seek your audience!" Louen's horse shifted uncomfortably, aware of the situation they were in. Bretonnian horses were intelligent creatures. Many horses that the Lords and Ladies owned were descended from the Pegasus, a creature that most thought extinct.

"The son of Charlemagne Leoncoeur dare approach me?" An armoured, aging man looked over the ramparts, glaring at the prince. "You sit on that hill with your army, then come cowering before me!"

"Lord Tael, your father and I were good friends!" Louen started, ignoring the insults. "Invading and occupying Castle Artois is an act of war! Why do this?" From the corner of his eye, Louen could spy his brother's trebuchets rolling to the hill, stones being sought as ammunition. This talk would have to be quick, lest Louen be shot by Duschane's archers.

"Why do this?" Lord Duschane barked, almost laughing. "Your father is too old to rule! Yet still he reigns! House Leoncoeur has not the power that they once had! Everyday, the Greyjoys pillage our coasts, and the Lannisters try to cross the Blue Mountains to conquer Bretonnia!"

"And how does starting a civil war stop any of that!?" Louen snapped. An arrow thudded into the mud a foot away from his horse, spooking the poor beast. A warning shot or no, Louen had to be careful with his choice of words.

"Lord Tael, the citizens in Castle Artois still support the Royarch. Our siege would surely see them put in danger! Sortie your troops so that none may be harmed!" several laughs could be heard from the battlements. Most Lords and soldiers in Bretonnia, and Westeros saw the common citizen as lesser beings, a means to an end. Louen saw more than that. They were people, just like him and his brother, the only difference was the amount of coin in his wallet.

"They're nothing but peasants! They can all die for all I care."

"And your family?" The man's face tightened. "While you've brought all your knights and soldiers here, who's left to defend your home? What is to stop the Royarch's army from razing Taelia, your ancestral home? Who will protect your family from slavery, or the gallows?" Lord Tael's tightened scowl turned to a roar. Snatching a bow from one of the archers.

"Give me a good reason not to kill you!" Louen instinctively raised the shield on his arm to defend himself. Had he crossed the line? Was this negotiation even going to have a peaceful resolution in the first place?

"You can walk away from this! Surrender peacefully and no one shall be-"

"WATCH OUT!" An archer shouted, mere moments before the tower nearby exploded. Rocks and shrapnel hailed in all directions, pelleting all in the vicinity. Louen would have been knocked from his steed, or had his skull cracked open, if not for his shield. Wrenching on the reins, the horse spun around and bolted towards the advancing army. Seeing the colours the man and horse wore, they let Louen slip past the ram and portable shields up to the lip of the hill, where a line of mounted knights await him.

"What in Seven Hells were you doing!?" Baudouin barked. "Why did you go and negotiate with him?"

" _Me?_ " Louen snapped. "What about you! That trebuchet volley could have killed me!" As if to emphasise that, the sound of a tower crumbling rumbled in front of them.

"Lords, please," General Moreau interrupted, positioning himself between the pair. "There is a battle ahead of us. Bicker once you return to that fancy palace you call home!" The brothers couldn't help but give each other a grin. It was not often that they fought, and to do so in such a situation would shake the morale of the army.

"By your lead," Louen gestured to the castle. Baudouin rode along the line of soldiers, who looked up at their prince.

"Soldiers!" Baudouin barked. "Knights of the Grail! The Lady smile upon us this day! The men in that castle are traitors! Tael Duschane swore the Oath, took his Vows, and chose to spend his life serving his Royarch. The day he stepped into Castle Artois is the day he signed himself a traitor!" The men roared a warrior's cry, beating their weapons against their chest plates and shields. The battering ram was at the walls, and began to pound at the barred gate.

"The citizens of that castle are still loyal!" Louen continued, joining his brother. "Remember your Vows, and kill only those you must!"

"Whomever brings me Duschane's head will have his place as a Duke!" Baudouin roared, drawing his sword. "For the Lady!"

.

.

The what was once a grassy hill was turned to mud under the might of three hundred thundering horses and five hundred hardy warriors. The gates shattered open just as the knights rushed in. 1the gatehouse was often a chokepoint, one of the best places to defend. Not today. The knights of Bretonnia cut a swathe through the line of troops. Louen's sword rose and fell, blood dripping from the steel edge.

"Push forward!" General Moreau yelled over the chaos. "If they hold us here we're done for!" Baudouin was see hacking like a barbarian, slaughtering all who stood to oppose him.

"How are we doing?" Louen asked, barging his way through the crowd.

"You tell me!" his brother replied, driving his sword through the neck of a man-at-arms. "Should you not have observed the battlefield?" Several spearmen threw themselves at Louen, piercing his horse's armour and flesh. The beast cried out in agony before toppling, pining his rider beneath him. Louen could barely grunt in pain as the air was crushed from his lungs. The soldiers who felled his steed aimed their spears at the prince, who used his shield as best he could to protect himself.

' _Lady,'_ Louen thought. _'Should I die this night, make my passing a painless one.'_ All of a sudden the blows stopped. Louen peered from his shied to see that General Moreau was there, cutting them down.

"To Lord Louen!" he barked. "Aid you prince!" Knights wearing House Leoncoeur's colours circled him, lifting the dead horse up and dragging the young Lord out from underneath.

"Are you alright?" one of them asked, his helmet red with blood.

"I think my leg is dislocated." Louen winced, limping away from the combat.  
"Your father should never have sent you to fight," another remarked, supporting the prince. "You are still a child!"

"Fourteen years is when any Lord sees his first battle!" Louen retorted, slumping down on a crate.

"That is true, my lord." General Moreau trotted his horse over to the wounded prince. "However they only see the battle as a standard bearer, or a drummer, not leading the charge!"

.

.

The battle raged long into the night. Though Lord Duschane's army was heavily outnumbered, they all but halted the progress of their enemy by using clever tactics. The major roads were blockaded and small side streets were blocked by shield walls and phalanxes of pikes. The army led by Louen and Baudouin Leoncoeur was launched several assaults on the walled of squares and roads, peppering the enemy with archer fire and then having the infantry scale the barricades and pull them apart.

"Status report," Baudouin barked, sliding of his horse.

"The city is almost completely under our control," General Moreau answered, limping towards him. "There are only a few pockets of resistance. Lord Duschane and his remaining forces are holed up in the keep." On a large solitary hill lay the keep, the centre of all power in this fief.

"Any reports of looting and raiding?" Louen asked, his shield still held over his head. From their position, archers could easily pick them off.

"None, my lord." Louen smiled at the news. Castle Artois' residents were still loyal to Royarch Charlemagne. To loot and pillage them would be an insult, and make their loyalty waver. "These men follow the Code, even the ones who haven't been knighted." As the sun rose over the city, there was not a better time to attack.

"You feeling okay?" Baudouin asked, approaching his younger brother. "I'm sorry about Neige, she was a fine horse."

"It happens." Louen answered, shrugging the sad fact away. Louen, like all Bretonnian knights, had raised their steed from a young age, forming a lifelong bond with the creature.

"My lords," Moreau interrupted. "We must press our attack. The longer we delay, the greater the chance that Tael has of escaping."

"His head is mine!" Baudouin roared, drawing his bastard sword

"No!" Louen grabbed his older brother by the arm. "Royarch Charlemagne demanded that he be brought back _alive_ , so that he face trial before the Fey Enchantress!" Such was tradition in Bretonnia. A knight or a lord who betrayed his king would face trial before the Fey Enchantress, the head of the Bretonnian faith. Baudouin only grunted in acknowledgment, his lust for blood having taken him over.

"Horses won't do in this attack," Moreau said. "The gate is too small for cavalry to charge through. We attack on foot!" and with that, the assault on the keep began.

"Shields up, lads!" Moreau shouted as arrows were loosed at the advancing horde. The projectiles thudded into their heater shields, only a few slipping through the cracks and bringing down the poor men. Baudouin and Louen thudded against the wall, taking shelter from the raining arrows. The knights of House Leoncoeur brought ladders and a portable ram to the walls, using every tactic they knew to surpass the wall.

"Heave!" A knight shouted, the ram swinging into the wooden gate. The doors thudded and hinges creaked.

"I'm going over!" Baudouin shouted, shaking his brother's shoulder. "Good luck, little cub!" the older of the pair swung onto a rising ladder, bracing as the structure crashed against the wall. "For the Lady!" Baudouin leapt onto an archer, his longsword cleaving through his leather armour as if it were no thicker than parchment. A swipe from a spear almost caught him off guard. Baudouin grabbed the shaft of the weapon and sliced it in two, before driving his blade into the man's heart.

"Heave!" Again, the ram crashed into the gate. It began to crack and inch open. Louen tried to look up and see where his brother was, but he had advanced down the battlements, fighting his way through the last of the resistance. "Heave!" the gate exploded inwards, the men holding it shut being thrown aside. "Charge!" General Moreau bellowed, as Louen and the other knights pushed through the gap. A man with an axe in one hand and a mace in the other sprinted straight for Louen, as if his only purpose in life was to bring him down. Louen braced as the axe smashed into his shield, parrying the mace away on the other side. Louen lunged with his blade, but the attack hit thin air as the man had spun away. At the end of the spin the crazed soldier brought both axe and mace crashing down into Louen's back. The blow would have killed him, had he not brought his shield around at the last second. The wooden barrier on his arm exploded into shards, knocking the prince down. For most men, this would have spelled their demise. This might have been the first time Louen set foot on a battlefield, but he had been training in swordsmanship for years. As the man approached, Louen turned onto his side and kicked his legs out, spinning in a tight circle. The man was felled by Louen's boot cracking into the back of his knee, and the momentum allowed the prince to quickly find his feet. Before Louen could bring his sword into the man's face, his comrades charged through, trampling him. Louen picked up a shield that was held by a severed arm, charging back onto the fray. As he engaged with another soldier, a militiaman charged at the prince.

"DIE!" he screamed, swinging his cudgel like it were a battle-axe. As cudgel man lunged, Louen sidestepped, pushing his blade through his throat. The other man winded back for a swing, leaving his chest exposed. Louen took advantage, pressing his sword through his mail. The man gasped in pain, dropping his weapon and shield. Louen kicked him in the gut, but still he advanced, using his weight as a weapon against the lad. Louen hacked again, tacking his left arm clean of. Another spinning slash across the chest and a shield punch sent him flying.

"Fight on men!" A raspy voice boomed over the chaos. "No surrender!" Louen looked to see three mounted knights circle the crowd, cutting down those who approached. The man in the centre was Tael Duschane, making his last stand. The steed he sat upon was no ordinary one. Snow white in pelt, and pillowing tail. It's legs were covered in hair that might as well have been feathers, by their texture. On the beast's back, aside from the rider, it boasted a pair of mighty wings.

"By the Lady," Louen gasped. "He's riding a pegasus!"


	2. Chapter 2: Knighthood

Lord Tael Duschane was the only one still fighting, all the other knights had thrown down their weapons and yielded. Louen had not planned on Tael having a pegasus, that meant that he had an escape route.

"Give up while you still can!" Louen approached the winged horse. "I promise that you will receive good care and a fair trial!" Tael paused for only a brief moment to look around him. Tael knew that the only options he had now were to surrender or die fighting. But he rode a pegasus, which gave him a third option.

"You'll be in the ground before I ever surrender to the likes of you!" Tael snorted, kicking the side of his mount. The winged horse spread its wings and flapped them, preparing for lift-off.

"TAEL!" Baudouin roared from the battlements. The man on the walls his greatsword aside and took a running leap at the horse. Baudouin and Tael collided, falling to the stone ground. They rolled around, each desperate to be on top. Baudouin gained upper hand and drove his fist into the older man's face.

"You traitor!" Blow after blow was struck, each hit from his armoured hand bloodying and bruising Tael's face. Louen's brother drew a dagger from his belt to kill him.

"No!" Louen grunted, grabbing his brother's arms. They wrestled over the knife and it was sent flying. The tiny blade scathed the pegasus' leg, causing her to cry in pain. She would have bolted, had someone not restrained it. "Our orders were to bring him back alive!"  
"Father wants him dead!" Baudouin retorted, snapping at his brother.

" _Oui,_ but the Fay demands that he be brought back alive." The Fay Enchantress was the head of the Bretonnian church. Though she was not the Royarch, she had just as much influence as them. The Fay even had a seat on the Royarch's table in court! Baudouin grunted, getting of the man.

"Throw him in the dungeon then!" Baudouin ordered, climbing the walls to retrieve his weapon.  
"Men," General Moreau barked. "The day is ours, we have won!"

* * *

Louen awoke in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar castle. His leg ached from the night before. Getting up and dressing, Louen walked out through to the courtyard.

"Good morning, m'lord." General Moreau greeted him. "Was your respite restful?"

"It was," Louen answered, watching soldiers tear down banners belonging to House Duschane and replacing them with banners of House Leoncoeur. "How goes the reoccupation?"

"Almost all the fires have been contained. The walls and gates still need to be repaired, as well as the damaged houses and shops."

"And Tael's men?"

"They either converted to join our ranks or were put to the sword."

"Excellent," Louen smiled. "When shall we return to the capital?"

"The Royarch has ordered me to stay here," Moreau answered. "Only you and Baudouin shall return to Couronne." Louen would have enquired further, but knew better not to. Orders were meant to be followed, not questioned. Louen decided to walk the streets, among the people. Not many left their homes, still frightened by recent conflicts. Those who did dare to venture out seemed wary, but content. They knew that House Leoncoeur had liberated them from the invaders, and order restored. No doubt they would elect their own governor until the Royarch sent his own to govern the populace. The gates and walls had been obliterated by the trebuchet and battering rams, It would take days just to clear the wreckage. But Bretonnian men were tough, and would work from dawn till dusk to complete their objectives. After wondering the streets, he returned to the keep.

"Hurry up, brother!" Baudouin slapped his sibling on the back. The crowned prince had donned his armour and waited for the squires to bring out his steed.

* * *

Like General Moreau had been instructed, the bulk of the army remained at Castle Artois. Through the duke and fiefdom did the remaining convoy march towards Couronne, the capital of Bretonnia. At the head of the line Baudouin rode proudly, holding the tether that wrapped tightly around the bedraggled and chained Tael Duschane. Louen walked beside a great cage on wheels that rumbled down the road slowly.

"Never seen one before?" The driver asked, nodding at the cargo. The cargo in question whinnied, trying to spread her wings in the cramped bar prison.

"No, I have seen a pegasus many-a-time before." Louden answered. "I feel sorry for the beast, is all."

"We must keep her locked up, m'lord. Otherwise she would escape! But she is a fine mare, she is!"

"You are a royal poacher, correct?"

"That I am!" The old man smiled, slapping the seat beside him. Louen clambered aboard and seated himself with the hunter. "Been doing this job for over forty years. You name the creature: bear, pegasus, or even a whale! I'll wrangle it and have it in a cage."

"What about a demigryph?" Louen asked, eager to hear the man's stories. "Have you ever caught a griffin?" Griffins were creatures as old as the world itself. Few and far between, only the wealthiest and most honoured knights and lords could afford a griffin. The demigryph is a creature that only surfaced in the last few generations. The fusion of a lion and a griffin, they are rare, and incredibly hard to breed in captivity. But the cost in battle was worth it, one demigryph was worth ten horses in battle. Royarch Charlemagne had spent years working with the Maesters, royal poachers and pegasi breeders to try to cultivate a continuous production of the beasts.

"That I have, your grace! Lost my finger to a griffin two years ago!" A mutilated hand with only four digits was held up for all to see, the man bearing the wound like a trophy.

"You certainly must have stories to tell," Louen grimaced. "I have never one of the poachers before."

"Aye, well ours is a dying occupation. Y'see, since your father was a lad, the knights of the realm started seeing the challenge of catching and taming their own griffins and demigryphs themselves as a test of honour."

"Has the Royarch done anything to prevent the extinction of your work?" The knights and soldiers that marched alongside and behind the wagon observed Louen with interest. It was common knowledge that the highborn of Bretonnia saw the lowborn as subhuman, yet here was the prince of the realm, of all people, to sit beside an old man and hear his stories. In Louen's eyes, the backbone of a strong nation wasn't the size of its army, but the prosperity of the people. Why was House Lannister one the most powerful Houses? Because of their wealth, most of the gold in Westeros was mined in Lannister territory.

"What region do you hail from?" Louen asked.

"The south!" The trapper answered, spurring the horses on with a flick of the reins. "From Bourguile."

"Bourguile! My favourite wine comes from that area."

"Bit young to be drinking," the trapper smiled. "What would your mother say?"

"She..." Louen mumbled. "She died when I was a child. Have you not heard of the Tragedy of Orléans?" Orléans was once a small city on the coast. A prosperous trading city and stop in the road connecting the north to the south. Only sporting a small garrison and no navy, it was a prime target for raiders. Louen and Baudouin's mother was raised there, and often returned home to visit her parents. On one such visit ten years ago, House Greyjoy launched a massive assault, swamping the garrison with their numbers. The Greyjoys slaughtered all inhabitants and took the city for themselves. In the following battle to reclaim the city for Bretonnia, Royarch Charlemagne fed every one of the surviving Greyjoy invaders to the demigryphs.

"Oh, I apologise!" the man bowed his head, almost slamming his head against the bench. "I had no idea that the queen was there that day!"

"Think nothing of it," Louen shrugged. "You did not know."

"Louen," Baudouin approached his younger brother. "Why do you sit here with the royal poacher? Come ride at the front of the procession, where you belong!"

"I have no horse to ride upon," Louen answered simply.

"Take someone else's!" The trek had been long and hard on the men. Surely they would give up their steed if ordered to, though resent that fact. Surely this would be a test of virtue and charity. To demand a horse would be cruel, but to do nothing would be a sign of weakness…

"I shall walk!" Louen announced, jumping from the cart and jogging to the front of the convoy. "Let the men know that I shall keep the pace!"

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Couronne's white walls slithered over the horizon. The sight of home made every man and beast quicken their pace, eager to arrive at their journey's end. In the fields around the city were meter tall palisades made from sturdy rock. What lay inside was not only farmland for grazing, but also the training grounds for Bretonnian cavalry. Louen climbed once more onto the carriage, desperate to try to see the mystical creatures that lay within. The grass rumbled as a squadron of knights mounted on demigryphs thundered past. The massive warbeasts were ferocious and powerfully built, standing larger than any horse. Their lust for bloodshed in the heat of battle was renowned, attacking their enemies with murderous assaults that no other creature could compare to. Each of the demigryphs were covered in a thick layer of armoured plates that overlapped their powerful sinews of muscular claws. Each of the beasts boasted a sharp beak so powerful that it could dismember a fully armoured knight in two as if a man were breaking a stick.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" the poacher hummed. The squadron of demigryph knights charged head on towards a huge bonfire, the riders bracing for impact. Most of the demigryphs used their huge, muscular legs to leap over the flames. Others simply just barged through, sending flaming debris in all directions.

"They are a sight to behold!" Louen agreed. The beasts and men of Bretonnia wore cloaks and garments coloured wine red and royal blue, the colours of House Leoncoeur, yet these knights wore armoured silver and gold.

"They are the king's personal guard! To see them train is a gift from the Lady!" the poacher smiled. "Wonder how many of them are riding demigryphs I caught?" A demigryph was reserved for only the mightiest and loyal of Bretonnian knights. To be given the honour of taming one yourself, or paying a fortune to buy one, was one that few had.

"Lord Louen," a knight approached them. "Prince Baudouin requests your presence at the front of the precession as we enter Couronne."

"It has been an pleasure," Louen offered his hand to the old man, smiling genuinely. The poacher gawked, for a lowborn to shake the hand of highborn was unheard of!

"The pleasure has been all mine!" the poacher took the hand and shook it with a prideful grin on his wrinkled face.

"Should I need a steed, I shall see you again!" Louen jumped of the cart and waved one final goodbye before joining his sibling.

* * *

The capitol city of the country of Bretonnia is Couronne. The hold that it occupied was encircled by a mighty stone wall that was several meters thick, and even more so high. Behind the mighty walls lay miles and miles of pastures and fields, with small farming towns dotting the roads and rivers. It was in the Outer Ring that the military centralised all of their operations. The field where the demigryphs were training was just one of many such fields that were used for training purposes. Then there was the Middle Ring, where plebs and civilians of all race and wealth lived and worked. Long before they had arrived at the gates of the Middle Ring did the trumpets begin to blare. As the band of soldiers made their way to the stone wall, the huge metal gates were thrown open. The streets were lined with civilians waiting them, cheering the brave soldiers home. The Leoncoeur brothers held their heads high, relishing in their welcoming.

"What a nice greeting this is!" Baudouin joked, waving to the masses.

"We've only just entered the southern gates. You think this'll keep up to the palace?"

"We shall see!" Baudouin laughed, tugging the rope that kept Tael Duschane walking. The exact size of Couronne's Middle and Inner Rings was larger than Kings Landing in Westeros, and near double the population. Built around a great bay on the western edge, the capitol of Bretonnia was one of the most prosperous cities on the continent, possibly the world. Each district had a specific purpose to keep order and efficiency, though there was the occasional shop, temple, or brothel that did not belong in the correct area. The southern gate where they had just entered was home to the market and tailor's districts. In the west lay the harbour and the artisan's districts. To the east lay the residential and temple complexes. In the northern parts of the city were a conglomerate of shops, temples, whorehouses and houses.

"Hail the Leoncoeur brothers!" a civilian shouted.

"The Lady smiles upon Baudouin and Louen!" another cheered. It was not long before the crowds thinned and the convoy arrived at the final wall, the Inner Ring. The gates had been opened for the troops long before they were near. As soon as they entered, it the change was evident. The air was fresher, the streets immaculate. Instead of cobblestone roads, tiles and marble were what people walked on. Where houses were once crammed together, all the homes and buildings in the final Ring were spaced apart, with large gardens and decorative fountains filling the space. The Inner Ring was home to the most wealthy and respected of Bretonnians. It was here that the immortal Lady lived, safe inside her holy cathedral. Sitting at the centre of Couronne, the Inner Ring was where the Royarch ruled. In the centre of the Ring was the Holy Cathedral of the Lady, where it is said that she first stepped onto this land. In the north-eastern corner of the huge Inner Ring lay a park of trees and gardens. Standing tall above its surroundings lay a shining white castle, Château Sommet. When they arrived at the tall iron gates, the party was welcomed home by the army of staff and nobles of the court. Baudouin dismounted his horse as they finally arrived home. Among the group awaiting them at the entrance of the castle was an older man, wearing regal robes and a crown upon his head.

"Father!" Baudouin bowed before the man, as did Louen when he caught up.

"Rise," the man instructed, both the brothers obeyed. A smile eventually grew on the man's face, and he threw his arms around the pair. "My sons have returned! You are unscathed, I trust?"

"I dislocated my leg," Louen answered, only to be shrugged away.

"You shall be alright, I'm sure. Tell me, Baudouin, how did the battle fare?"

"I present you with gifts from the battle." Baudouin gestured. The covered cage was brought before the king, and the covers thrown off. "Lord Tael Duschane's pegasus!" Royarch Charlemagne's eyes widened, approaching the beast. Having spent his life on the backs of pegasi and griffins, he had an eye for them.

"A fine mare! She will make for good breeding material." It was then that Louen brought forward the traitor, Tael.

"Your majesty, here is the traitor, Tael Duschane!" Louen pushed the man to his knees, making him kneel before the Royarch. Charlemagne stared at the man with disdain, scowling at the man he once thought of as a friend.

"Throw him into the dungeon," Charlemagne grunted. "His trial will be held within the week." The guards hauled him away, leaving the king and soldiers to go on their way. Louen decided that before he changed into regular clothes, he would walk the gardens. Plants from all across the kingdom were collected and cultivated, making it a rich and beautiful ecosystem. Many of the Damsels, the women who served the Lady, could be found there. They were good conversation and company. Louen often visited them, day or night. The sound of a tiny whinny and trotting behind him diverted his attention from the beautiful flowers and maidens.

"Hm?" A few foot behind him was a tiny pegasus, almost the size of a dog. Louen, like many other people, would immediately assume it was a stray from the stables and either return it, or sell it for a fortune. What stayed his hand from doing the former was that upon closer inspection, the pegasus' mane had been braided, and a bow was tied around the neck. "I know who you belong to!" Louen clicked his tongue, bending down and extending his hand to the foal. The Damsels that were around had been watching this for a long time, giggling quietly. For the most part Louen ignored them, only focusing on the foal that was sniffing his hand.

"What are you doing?" A voice asked, right at his ear. Louen almost squealed and jumped out of his skin, falling on his rump. The tiny pegasus skipped away, flapping the tiny wings it bore.

"Madame Leila!" Louen smiled up at the Damsel. "How nice to see you again. I trust you are well?"

"Very," Leila answered, giving him a wry grin. "Playing with the foals? Is that not a child's activity?"

"That foal belongs to my sister," Louen replied, getting to his feet. "I would return it to her." Madame Leila went to a table where a tea set lay, and took a few cubes of pasted sugar cane. Approaching the scrub that the foal was hiding in, she dropped to her knees. "Ne crains pas, petite cheval." she cooed, speaking in the traditional Bretonnian language. "Tout est bien. Tu es en sûr." A tiny white snout poked from the bush, sniffing the hand gingerly. The lips of the snout snuffled up the sugar cube, obsessed with the sweet taste. The snout turned into a head, and then a neck. Soon the entire foal was following the hand with the sweets. "Tu es si belle. Très très belle." The other Damsels, who had been playing croquet, observed with interest. The winged horse was clear of the scrub, and allowed Leila to even pick her up.

"Incroyble," Louen muttered, watching the beautiful lady walk proudly to him. "Truly I am blessed by the Lady to have witnessed such a sight."

"I thank you," Leila blushed lightly, handing the winged baby over to him. "I am glad to have helped you, my prince." Louen would have stayed longer, but his task was set. On afternoons like these, the Maester would be teaching in the gardens that had the stream run through it. 'The sound of water unlocks the potential of the mind!'. they said on numerous occasions. Sure enough, that is where he was.

"And what is the motto of House Lannister?" the old man asked, pointing the quill to a map of Westeros and Bretonnia. Maester Lupine wore a faded blue gown and a chain, the uniform of many Maesters across Westeros.

"A Lannister always pays his debts?" the young girl sitting next to him guessed.

"No, that is the common saying, not the official one. The correct answer is-"

"Hear me roar!" Louen roared, causing the old man to jump in fright.

"LOUEN!" the small girl squealed, sprinting full pelt towards him. The prince barely had enough time to drop a knee before the girl barrelled into him, sending man, child, and foal tumbling on the tiles.

"Oh, how I missed you, Estella!" Louen smiled, hugging the child close.

"I missed you too!" the child beamed, grabbing the baby pegasus and cuddling it.

"And you found Tiptoe!"

"Tiptoe?" Louen snorted, ruffling Estella's hair. "You are a wordsmith when it comes to names."

"How fared the battle, my lord?" Maester Lupine asked, approaching the prince.

"Well, though there were more losses than predicted." Louen answered. "How are the lessons?"

"Estella here seems to think that learning about the world is unnecessary."

"Well it isn't!" the young girl pipped up, clinging to her brother's cape like it were a stuffed bear. "Why do I need to worry about the rest of the world when I'm gonna live in Bretonnia my whole life?" Louen couldn't help but chuckle. On one side, she was right, but she was highborn. It was her duty to be educated, and who knew where the road would lead her?

"My dear sister," Louen grinned. "You never know where your destiny lies. Who knows, you might marry the son of Robert Baratheon and rekindle relations between Bretonnia and Westeros!" The thought of such a thing made the girl almost heave.

"Ew! I don't wanna marry! I'm going to become like the Lady when she came to Bretonnia!"

"So you'll become a Damsel then?" Estella nodded, taking her pet and trotting away.

"Lady Estella, you have not finished your lesson yet!" The Maester cried, following her. Louen left them to retire to his quarters. Passing through the halls and walkways with a steady pace, Louen knew this castle like the back of his hand. As he entered one of the several ballrooms, he stopped. Louen spied the shadow of a man who stood at the entranceway. A spy? Was it someone taking a break? Or could it be…

"Assassin," Louen hissed. Surely not, who would try to kill him? The Greyjoys? House Duschane? The Lannisters? Either way, this threat had to be eliminated. Having no armour, and only a knife to defend himself, he was in poor shape to fight. The walls of the ballroom were adorned with decorative weaponry. Any of those would be better then a mere dagger. Louen took a deep breath, praying to the Lady for luck before sprinting for the room. As he approached, he could hear the assassin's blade being drawn. To simply run out would be suicide, best to catch them off guard! Louen let his legs fold in, allowing him to slide on his arse through the door. The assassin was caught by surprise, his blade aimed for a standing target. Louen rolled onto his side and threw the knife. It missed the man by only a few inches, wobbling in the wooden doorframe it planted itself into.

"You missed," the 'assassin' said.

"And you are a fool, for acting like a man sent to kill me!" The man wore a heavy brown jacket, lined with protective metal rings and an assortment of pockets. Upon his head sat a capotain of hardened leather, decorated tufts of fur and exotic feathers. "Suppose that knife would have hit you, then what?"

"Then I would have nothing left to teach you!" the man shrugged, hoisting the prince up. Victor Saltzpyre was the Grandmaster, the leader, of the Order of the Witch Hunters. The Witch Hunters were a group of agents that answered only to the king. They were spies, scouts, infiltrators, inventors and assassins. Unless ordered by the Royarch to act on something, a Witch Hunters main job was to maintain order and squash any heresy, destroy any influence that the Church of the Seven or the Lord of Light had in Bretonnia. Victor had spent the time of Louen's youth in the capitol, teaching the boy to fight.

"Pray that day shall never happen!" Louen smiled, pacing the ballroom with the man. "Is it not you who is renowned as the greatest Water Dancer in the world?" Victor had spent his youth in the Free City of Bravos, learning the art of Water Dancing. There he escalated the ranks of the military to become Second Sword. Were he Bravosi and not Bretonnian, he would have been named First Sword.

"Yet it is Syrio Forel who was First Sword," Victor remarked, his student hanging on his every word. "Though yes, on almost every occasion I did defeat him!"

"And what of the time you did not?"

"I was drunk and had my other blade sheathed in a whore!" Louen almost laughed at the thought: Water Dancing whilst- "Now my boy, enough about me. I see that you have returned from your first battle alive and well!"

"Not completely," Louen admitted. "I dislocated my leg when my horse fell on it." Victor practically pushed the boy into a chair. Most people would face a death sentence rough handling any member of the royal family in such a way, but there were some people who were exempt from that. The Maester who taught you everything you knew, the man who you spent most hours and hours of every day training with, and maid who changed your pants every time you shit as a babe.

"Which leg?" Victor asked, rolling up the pantaloons the prince wore. Part of every Witch Hunter's training was to learn the medicinal arts. What a Maester could do, a Witch Hunter could do better, and more. They were willing to do what the Maesters called 'unethical' and 'evil'. This was the reason they were such great healers. They knew everything about the body, and what would and wouldn't work to fix it.

"Left," Louen answered, ignoring the looks that the scullery maids and servants gave as they went about their work.

"Any difficulty walking, or discomfort?" Victor inspected the joints closely, looking to see that they moved well.

"It gets stiff after running for too long, and when I got up the next morning."

"As expected. It looks as if the was set correctly." Victor rummaged through his pockets and his belt, sifting through the many pouches and vials. "I shall have one of my men bring you some crushed herbs to settle the discomfort."

"Thank you, doctor!" Louen said in a teasing tone, fixing his pants and standing.

"Now, for the last eight years we have trained, let today be no different!" Victor went to where he had been planning to ambush the prince and acquired a pair of wooden swords. The Witch Hunter threw one at Louen, who caught it by the grip.

"First we arm ourselves," Louen formed up in a side stance, keeping one arm behind his back.

"And then, the Dance begins!" Victor finished, the tips of the blades touching. And the Water Dance began… . . The pair circled each other slowly, waiting for the other to move. Victor had taught Louen all things when it came to swordplay: How to move, how to strike where it was not expected, how to move like a cat. Victor drove his blade forward, lunging for his throat. Louen spun away from the strike and retorted with a swipe across Victor's face. But the Witch Hunter had foreseen the attack, and easily parried it. The blades clapped in quick succession, both men trying to find an opening in the other's guard. Louen lunged, twisting his wrist at the last moment. Victor had anticipated the lunge for the throat, but the twist sent the blade to his kidney. Victor spun away, striking for the back of Louen's head. The prince twisted around, blocking the strike.

"Good," Victor smiled, giving the Prince time to retreat and reform his guard. The process began again. Feint. Parry. Riposte. Dodge. Strike. Lunge. Louen was at home when he was Water Dancing. The finest sword art there was. Though not great in a fight against a knight, donned in thick plate armour, it had many things a broadsword-man lacked. Grace. Speed. Manoeuvrability. Fluidity. These were the advantages of the Water Dancer. Victor rolled past Louen, aiming to strike his exposed knees. Louen pranced over the blade and struck for the capotain that sat on Victor's head. The Witch Hunter caught the blade with his of hand and wrenched it from Louen's grip. Instead of letting go, Louen went with it, vaulting over the man. Victor still held Louen's sword tightly, and instead of trying to free it, he went with the next tug, making a lunge. However it seemed that Victor Saltzpyre was expecting this, and aimed to take his opponent's head. Louen felt the blade skim past his face as he rolled away. A blow of that magnitude would have knocked him out cold, and that was if he was lucky. Louen rolled away and got back to his feet. "Sloppy," Victor tutted, using his sword to rise himself.

"I thought the prince of the Bretonnians was better than _this_!" Louen knew that Victor was testing him, trying to make him angry, a classic method of psychological warfare. Louen only grinned and shrugged.

"A man is only as good as his teacher. If I am bad, what does that make you?" Victor seemed to take the bait, and advanced. The pair whirled across the room; swiping, slashing and thrusting. Victor gave Louen a backhanded slap across the face, spinning into the strike. The slap stunned the prince, who barely had time to react to the following attack. Louen put all his weight into the balls of his feet and knees, letting his body collapse back. The sword went clear over his head, leaving Victor's guard open. Louen let his hands take the weight of this position. Kicking his legs back, the prince landed them into the Witch Hunter's torso, sending him flying. The air in Victor's lungs went gushing out as he thudded onto the stone floor. Before he had time to react, Louen had his sword at his throat.

"Dead," Louen smirked. Victor's capotain rolled away from him, revealing his greying hair. A smile grew on the man's face, and he soon nodded.

"The master has finally been bested by the apprentice," he exclaimed. "A momentous occasion indeed." It was a sad day, in Victor's mind, but a proud one, nonetheless. "Louen, my boy. I have taught you all I can. Where I was once the greatest Water Dancer, I can say that you have stripped my of that title!" While the prince seemed happy, there was something in his eyes, something that held back the true joy. "What troubles you? Come, let me hear your thoughts." Louen did not answer, sitting himself down by the window.

"You know what happened yesterday, on the morning of the battle?" The prince asked. Outside he saw his little sister and Madame Leila playing with Tiptoe, baiting the foal with a ribbon.

"Aye, yesterday was your day of birth. You turned fourteen!" Victor answered.

"And you know what's happening tomorrow, right?"

"I do. You are to be knighted before the Lady." Louen turned to him, his eyes almost tearing up.

"Master, I'm afraid. I don't want to be a knight! I don't want to go into battle! I almost died in my first one!"

"Oh my dear boy," Victor sat beside the prince. "Your father never expected you to fight yesterday! What he had hoped was that you would simply observe the fight from afar!" Louen looked at him, aghast. Had he risked his life for nothing? That was irrelevant now, for it was in the past.

"I have other concerns." Louen admitted. "You know how important tomorrow is."

"The day when a boy becomes a man!" As true was that statement was about Bretonnian culture, very few men became knights. Only the nobles and rich were knighted. It was rare that a man of the lower classes was seen as worthy. "Are you ready for the tests?"

"No," Louen admitted. "And I am afraid that I should fail!"

"What have I taught you about fear, Louen?" Victor picked up his hat and sat it upon his head.

"Fear is the body daring us to leap forward. Fear is the first step of greatness."

"And that is what I know you will do, Louen. I've watched you grow up since you were a young boy. At the age of 7 I was teaching you how to run, roll, and jump. By eight you were swinging a sword. By thirteen you charged headfirst you're your first battle! Imagine what you will do once you are a knight and serving the realm!" Louen looked up to his master and into those tired eyes he knew.

"You really think I can do something that great?"

"You already have, and who knows what you will do? You could crush the Greyjoys, or restore relations with the Baratheons and the Starks! You have a determination and a mind that, if you put them to the test, could even take the Iron Throne if they wanted!"

"I have no wish to be king, or royarch!" Louen laughed, his fears subsiding. "Thank you, master."

"Run off to bed now, little prince. Say your prayers to the Lady, and awake at dawn!"

* * *

" _S'il vous plaît_ ," Louen mumbled, kneeling before a portrait of the Lady. "B _ien-aimé Dame. Accorde-moi calme._ " The language the prince was speaking would have seemed foreign to most people, except those from his homeland. Bretonnian was a language that was not widely spoken, much like the native language of any area. Louen was fluent in both Bretonnian and Westerosi, though he had little use for the latter. "J _e demande que vous regarde moi digne de votre faveur._ " A knock came on the great oaken door of Louen's bedroom. Before he could answer, a group of servants entered the room, carrying bundles of clothes. Louen rose and they stripped him naked. As they undressed him, a bath was run and heated. Before he could step in, they pulled him away, taking out several razors and bars of soap. "What are you doing?" Louen asked as they began to lather his body in the suds. They did not answer, as if their tongues had been cut. The reason was part of the initiation of a knight: no one was allowed to talk to them before the ceremony, so that they remain pure-minded during the proceedings. They began to shave his body, taking all the hairs on him but the ones atop his head. The razors cut deep, severing the hairs on all extremities and his torso. This was part of the process into manhood. Let the judged be as bare and as naked as possible under their armour, to show how truly innocent they were in childhood. After being shorn like a sheep, they set a meagre plate of food at his table, not taking their eyes off of him. Traditionally, the man who was being judged was to starve for several days beforehand, but for royalty they made the exemption, so long as they did not gorge. Before Louen had taken his fifth bite of the food it was taken away. Louen was bathed again and put into fine cloth. From there the servants and squires dressed the prince in his armour. The armour was heavy on him, both chainmail and plates sealing him in their metal embrace. Each of his fingers was adorned in rings containing both religious and regal value. Finally, upon his head was placed a golden band, like a crown. Louen, now dressed, made his way through the halls towards the courtyard. Baudouin walked the other way, and his brother's face lit up. As per tradition, Baudouin took no notice of Louen. As they passed, the older brother seemed to deliberately bump into his sibling. Louen could feel him fiddling with his belt. Inspecting it, Louen saw that his brother had slipped a strip of paper in. His brother hid it, only taking it out once he had boarded the carriage.

* * *

The great cathedral doors opened slowly, and in walked a lone Louen. The smell of the incense that burnt and the near deafening singing of the choir almost knocked the young lord onto his arse. His armour clinked and rattled as he slowly walked down the central isle. People from all of the three Rings stood and watched him. The plebs from the Outer Ring were put at the back, the inhabitants of the Middle Ring ahead of them, and the nobles, knights and citizens of the Inner Ring at the front. Standing near the grand altar was Louen's father and brother, who waited for him. Louen was sweating underneath his metal suit, his body shaking from the nerves. Baudouin gave his brother a subtle nod as they passed. _'When you approach the altar, draw your sword, present it, and bend your knee.'_ Baudouin note instructed. _'Whatever you do, do NOT look at the Lady's face. Only the chosen few may.'_ For a Bretonnian noble, the day that they are knighted is the most important day in their life. All the training and studying they had spent the years of their youth enduring was at an end. Should he be knighted, a Bretonnian would serve his Royarch by joining a one of the knightly Orders to serve the realm. Few were lucky enough to be knighted by the Lady herself, most were knighted by a Damsel, her representatives and priests across the land. _'But fear not, little brother! You shall pass the test. Remember this day as the day you become a man!'_ Louen drew his sword, dropping his knee and bowing his head. The crowd took their seats in the pews, and the ceremony began. The choir hushed as a woman covered completely in white entered from a side door. People murmured in awe. It was the Lady Herself! The one who was said to be born from moon rock who once served the Old Gods. In her travels across the land, she found Bretonnia, a barren and desolate place. The Lady poured water from her Grail onto the soil, and Bretonnia came to life. The Old Gods granted her immortality for her great deeds. Louen, against all advice, tried his best to catch a glance. His attempt was in vain, as a thick veil covered her head. Light footsteps paced down the velvet carpet, approaching the altar from the depths of the cathedral.

"Louen, of House Leoncoeur." The woman addressed. The woman who stood before him was the Fey Enchantress. The Fey was the head of the Church of the Lady, and the most influential person in Bretonnia, after the king. "You kneel before us on this day. Having turned 14, you are now able to serve your country. Do you understand this?"

"I do," Louen answered. The Fey Enchantress was a woman in her late sixties, with a stern brow and drained face. She had spent her entire life in service to the Lady, and had earned the right to lead Her flock.

"You will state the Seven Commandments that a knight lives by,"

"A knight will serve the Lady of the Moon," Louen answered. "A knight will defend the domains entrusted to him. A knight will protect the weak and fight for the right. A knight will always fight the enemies of virtue and order. A knight will never give up until the foe is defeated. A knight will never break faith with friend or ally. A knight will always display honour and courtesy." The cathedral was quiet, some of the knights murmuring in approval.

"Prince Louen," the Fey Enchantress rested her hand on his forehead. "States the rules of honour that all Bretonnian knights live and die by," Louen gulped nervously. He had spent hours, if not days rehearsing and memorising the Knight's Code and the Laws of Chivalry. Yet, the words were stuck in his throat.

"A knight may only fight hand to hand, with sword or lance but never a missile weapon." the prince eventually croaked. "A knight shall always accept a challenge towards personal combat. A knight shall not draw sword against his fellow Bretonnian knight, except in trial by combat or within a tournament. A knight shall not allow himself to be captured alive. A knight shall not flee from the enemy, not retreat without proper tactical cause." The Fey Enchantress said nothing. Louen looked up at her, the fear shining through his eyes. For any noble to not be knighted brought great dishonour on their family. If anyone of the royal family were not worthy of the Lady's approval and blessing, that would be enough to start the fires of a coup, or civil war. The Fey gave Louen a small smile, nodding in approval. Louen had passed the first test. Memory was one thing, but the second test was where almost all aspiring men failed to become a knight.

"Prince Louen Leoncoeur," the Fey Enchantress continued. "To know the Laws and Codes is one thing, but you must be worthy of serving the Lady and your king. By what right do you think you are worthy?" Every man who wanted to be a knight had to give a reason as to why they thought they were worthy.

"By..." Louen started. What reason did he have? "By right of birth!" This answer seemed to surprise the Fey. The nobles and knights who had been watching talked amongst themselves, hissing whispers to and fro. No one had ever declared that they had the right by birth, a knight must have had experience and a worthy reason. "Not only am I the son of the Royarch, but I will pass on his line, should there ever be an incident with my brother."

"And if there is not?" the Fey retorted.

"Then..." Louen mumbled. At this time it was obvious that he was only digging his own grave. He had no reason to become a knight. "Then I will serve as his loyal servant until my dying breath!" An outburst declaring such unwavering support for the royal family or the Church of the Lady was something to be smiled upon.

"And now we turn to you," the Fey addressed the crowd. "Prince Louen Leoncoeur has declared that he is worthy of knighthood by right of birth. The rules of this land dictate that not only the Church of the Lady can decide whether or not this man shall be knighted, but also the people. Stand! Let those who think this man is worthy declare it so!" The next few minutes would be the most tense Louen would experience for many years to come. Should no one speak, Louen would fail the test. If people spoke and the Lady still did not think the man was worthy, those people would be shamed. It was a great risk to make a declaration. If no one spoke for a minute, the Lady would pass her judgment. Louen, who still knelt facing the altar and the Lady, looked over his shoulder. Would no one speak?

"I make a declaration!" A voice announced. Louen saw his brother stand before the Fey. "I, Baudouin Leoncoeur, declare that Louen Leoncoeur is worthy by right of courage!"

"Speak your reason." The Fey nodded. It was not unusual for family to declare that their relatives were worthy.

"Louen was only thirteen years old when he saw his first battle, far younger than anyone else!" The people murmured in agreement. "Despite his youth and inexperience, Louen did not cower! No, he led the men! When he was injured and all looked bleak, he rallied the troops and pushed for victory!" People from all of the three Rings chorused their approval for Louen's acceptance.

"Who else shall speak?" The Fey Enchantress asked, still unconvinced by the testament from the older Leoncoeur brother.

"I-I would like to speak," an old man wearing a blue robe hobbled to the Fey from his spot near the front of the crowd.

"I recognise you, Maestro Lupine," the Fey nodded. The Maestro was the Bretonnian translation for the title of Maester. Even across the Blue Mountains, the Maesters were still an important part of the community. "By what right do you state that Louen Leoncoeur has to be a knight?"

"By right of knowledge, my lady." The old man tried his best to bow before the Lady, but his old joints allowed only a strange squat. "I have taught many men and women the knowledge of the world, yet none have a mind quite like young Louen. With a brain like his, and the silver tongue he was born with, I believe that he would make a fine addition to the court and serve the realm to her greatest interest." After a coughing fit took over, a Damsel took him to a seat where he could be watched and attended to.

"I have something to say," a man approached.

"I am afraid that I do not know you, stranger," the Fey Enchantress said. "State your name for us!"

"Victor Saltzpyre, rank of Grandmaster of the Order of the Witch Hunters. I've trained this lad in swordsmanship since he was a boy. With a broadsword he is deadly, and with a rapier, never have I seen a finer Water Dancer!" Louen couldn't help but smile, he had fond memories of spending hours clashing blades with Victor. "I once had the reputation of being the best Water Dancer in Westeros, now Louen has stolen that honour. I'd say the boy is the finest swordsman in the world! I declare by right of skill, he is worthy!" Many were wary of the Witch Hunters and did not trust them. For the leader of that very organisation to praise the prince so brought a mix of responses. Some were unbelieving, not listening to the assassin. Others were encouraging, adding their own words to the statement.

"Louen has the right by kindness!" Estella pipped up, making the crowd chuckle. Louen suppressed a laugh at his sister's outburst. "He's the bestest brother in the world! When I'm not allowed any sweets he gives me his!"

"Thank you, young princess." The Fey Enchantress smiled. Even an old and hard lady such as her couldn't hide her amusement from the sheer innocence of a child. "We will certainly remember that Louen is kind."

"No more sweets for Louen then," Baudouin snickered, much to Victor's amusement.

"By right of chivalric conduct!" A citizen from the Middle Ring called from the pews. "Not once 'as the prince broken the laws. 'is majesty upholds them and treats all as equals!"

"Yeah!" Another voice cried. "One time I was getting assaulted in the marketplace and he detained the attackers!" Soon the normally ordered and calm examination turned into an uproar. People shouted their names and reasons for their outcry. Louen couldn't help but turn around, watching people of all walks of life support him. Had he really had this much of an impact of the kingdom? In his eyes, he was only a spoiled prince. The people ignored the Fey Enchantress' attempts to calm the populace. The Lady, still hidden behind the veil and sitting above all, the Lady daintily put up her hand. The cut of chatter was so sharp it cut the air, and all instantly seated themselves. They were not wrong to fear the Lady, one of the first humans to walk the land beneath their feet. To defy her or even say something wrong about Her in Bretonnia was a death sentence, if not by the hands of your peers, then the Witch Hunters would find you. The Fey Enchantress knelt before the immortal woman, waiting for her decision. Before the Lady lay a ceremonial dagger and the Grail. The Grail was the most important and valuable object in all of Bretonnia. It is the waters from that cup that turned a desolate and barren wasteland into the beautiful country. However since no one had ever used its power since the Lady first did, no one can confirm the legitimacy of such claims. The dagger was a gift to the knight. Is the knight were to receive it, it meant that whomever was judging them did not find them worthy. They were to go on a quest to gain the honour they lacked. Should they fail, the dagger would be the weapon they would use to end their life. Only once had a member of the royal family received the dagger. That was the start of rebellion that overthrew the monarchy and placed House Leoncoeur in power. Louen prayed to the Old Gods and the Lady that he would not be the reason for another coup. The prince screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the verdict. When the Fey Enchantress picked up the object the Lady had chosen, there was an uproar. Louen's eyes shot up to look at the Fey standing before him. In her hands, was the Grail.


	3. Chapter 3: The Pegasus

"Prince Louen Leoncoeur," the Fey Enchantress announced. "You have been judged by the Lady as fit to serve the realm, king, and Lady. Drink now from this sacred Grail, and let the blessings that fill that cup flow through you!" As Louen was handed the Grail, the choir and organ filled the air with hymn, praising the immortal Lady. The wine that passed his lips was immaculate, sweet and rich. The Fey Enchantress took the Grail from his hands and placed it on the altar for all to see. The Fey's hands took up the sword that Louen held before him, and kissed each of his shoulders with the flat face.

"Prince Louen, of House Leoncoeur. I pronounce that you are now a knight of the realm. Rise now and live your life in service to your Royarch and the Lady!" Louen looked up at the old woman, who gave him a slight grin. The prince turned, greeted by a thunderous applause from all present. Estella ran to glomp her brother, but Baudouin, who hoisted her into his meaty arms, caught her. Royarch Charlemagne nodded at his son, smiling at Louen's achievement. Victor gave his protégé a sly wink as he walked down the isle. His older brother slapped Louen on the shoulder, and Estella hugged onto his cape. The knights and nobles of the Inner Ring, and the citizenry from the other Rings gave their prince respectful cheers and applause. Outside the cathedral was a line of carriages, surrounded by an ocean of peasants and citizens. A line of the palace guard held the rabble back from the Royarch and his entourage. The Damsels and Estella entered one carriage, Baudouin, Maester Lupine, and Victor the second carriage.

"Come, my son." Royarch Charlemagne beckoned his youngest son to a carriage. "There is much to discuss." It was not since he was a child that Louen had spent alone time with is father. To have a private carriage ride must have meant that today was truly an important day. The pair sat themselves in the box and the door was closed. Soon the carriage rumbled out of the tied square and made its way through the streets towards the conglomerate of buildings made from marble and white stone, built in the centre of parks and gardens. Neither king nor prince spoke, choosing instead to watch the crowds and city. Louen wanted to talk to his father. Embrace him, ask him why all these years he has ignored his youngest son and only daughter! Did he not care for them like he cared far Baudouin? What kind of parent would forsake his children? The thought of how the Royarch had mistreated him angered Louen. Part of him wanted to grab him by the lapels and shake the ageing man.

"Today is an important day," Royarch Charlemagne eventually spoke up, making Louen snap to attention. "The day a boy becomes a man."

"It is a momentous occasion, my lord!" Louen agreed. Baudouin spoke familiarly to the king, as did Estella, but only because she was just a child. Louen was unsure how he was to address the king. On one hand, he was his father. On the other, the Royarch. The Black Pegasus. The Flame of the West. The latter two were titles that Charlemagne had received in his younger days. The Black Pegasus was because he had found and tamed a beast that had only been seen once every generation, a black pegasus, the steed that the Lady is said to ride in the End Days. "The Lady was ever-benevolent to see me as worthy."

"Of course you're worthy. You're my son." Louen was almost flattered to be complimented by the king, but it left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Am I not worthy by my own accomplishments?" The Royarch turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

"We shall see how you serve the realm."

* * *

The Palace was ablaze with festivities. Lords and Ladies from all across Bretonnia had flocked to join the festivities. Feasts were had, jesters preformed, minstrels sung, all in honour to the prince. Louen sat in the centre of the table where people would, as tradition dictates, shower him with gifts.

"Congratulations, my lord!" Maestro Lupine wheezed, placing a huge book upon the table in front of him. "A momentous occasion indeed. I present my gift to you: the written history of Bretonnia, all in one volume!" Louen's eye widened at the massive tome, so large it took one man's entire effort to lift. A key sat upon the cover to open the rusted lock on the side.

"Knowledge is found in both triumphs and failures of those who came before," Louen said. "No doubt that there is much knowledge in these pages. Thank you. I shall learn what I can to best serve my House and kingdom." The old man seemed delighted that the book was so graciously accepted, and gave Louen his squat-like bow before moving on for the next person. Several people gave him expensive treasures that were honestly frivolous to him. Jewels from across the sea, pelts of dire wolves, one Lord even offered his daughter's hand in marriage. Louen respectfully declined, as he would marry for love, not because she was handed to him.

"Where is Ser Victor?" Louen asked.

"Victor Saltzpyre is unable to attend," Baudouin answered in between a mouthful of pie. "The Witch Hunters are providing security for this event." Louen had noticed an unusual amount of them around the palace. Despite the city guard and the Royarch's entourage of bodyguards patrolling, the occasional capotain drifted through the crowd, or watched from the rooftop. Victor was spotted, and the prince beckoned him over. Victor shook his head, declining the offer. "Why do you like him so?"

"Because he is my mentor and friend!" Louen answered, taking a sip from the ornate cup of wine. "Do you distrust the Witch Hunters, dear brother?"

"I trust a Witch Hunter as much as I trust a Lannister!" the older brother joked, toasting his own cup. The brother stood and hoisted his drink to the air. "My good people, let us celebrate this day. The day when my baby brother becomes a man!" The crowd cheered, toasting their own cups. "Life is good for each and every one of us, the Lady blesses you all!" The Fey Enchantress, who sat nearest to the table of Louen's family, nodded in approval.

"Let Louen speak!" a drunken lord shouted, much to the approval of the crowd. Soon they were raucous for the younger prince. Baudouin shrugged, sitting himself down. Though Louen was the smarted of the two, he was timid. Public performances frightened him.

"Thank you," Louen eventually croaked, standing. "I look forward to serving each and every one of you in the realm!" The crowd gave a polite applause, clearly hanging on his every word. "Let us remember days like this when the future gets dark. Look back on this occasion as a fond memory. A time of peace, prosperity, and love." Louen sat back down and the crown toasted to him for the umpteenth time.

* * *

It was that evening, the guest of honour had slipped away from the festivities. Louen walked the halls alone, stopping to eye the murals on the wall. They depicted many scenes. The Lady bringing life to Bretonnia, Royarch Arno, Louen's forefather, flying into battle on an armoured griffin. By his side was Aegon Targaryen atop a mighty dragon, belching an inferno. Three hundred years in the future and Louen could almost feel the heat from the painted fire. Along the halls he could still hear the music and shouting. Most likely it would go long into the night. But the prince was happy to stare at paintings, watching how too much wine and ale made them move in his head. The next picture along depicted another Leoncoeur of the past, wrestling with a demigryph.

"It is impolite of the guest of honour to leave their seat." A familiar voice said behind him. Louen jumped to see Victor standing behind him, his hand never far from his rapier.

"I have been sitting in that chair for hours," Louen countered. "I needed some quiet. And a shit." Victor grinned, shaking his head.

"You're now a knight and serving the realm. Sitting at tables for long periods should be considered a holiday!" The pair walked in quiet chatter, observing the many historical scenes.

"Thank you for making a declaration," Louen looked at his teacher. "I truly appreciate it."

"You are more than many who have knelt before the Fey. If death itself was the price I paid, I would have given my life to praise you." The prince was gobsmacked at the Witch Hunter's loyalty. Truly he was blessed to know this man. "Come, embrace me!" This caught Louen off guard. Not once in the many years he had known Victor had they embraced, never going farther then a handshake. Louen walked into his open arms, embracing him tightly. Partway through the hug he felt something tighten around his waist and tighten. Upon separating Louen found that Victor had fastened a belt similar to his. Upon it was several pouches and vials of different ingredients, as well as a beautiful rapier.

"A sword?" Louen asked, drawing the blade. It was thin and shone brightly.

"The sword I used when I was Second Sword." Louen gasped. For Victor to gift him such a kingly gift truly showed how highly he thought of Louen.

"I cannot accept such a gift," Louen shook his head. "I thank you anyway."

"Louen, my boy. There is one thing you must know about the world. Nowhere is safe. Every person you meet could stab you in the back. Since I won't be able to be by your side to protect you, I'd be honoured if my sword would be there in my place." Again, Louen was speechless. Did Victor's generosity to his student know no bounds?

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

"If you ever tire of the life of nobility, put down the crown and take up the capotain, I promise that you will always have a place among the Witch Hunters."

* * *

Louen rose early the next morning. No doubt his father would send one of his subjects with orders for him. Why not simply speak to him himself? The king was not busy at such a time. Dressing in a red vest and black pants, the prince descended the stairs to the garden. It was quiet, as always. The fountains bubbled, the gardeners worked, and the Damsels strolled about, caring for the animals in the palace. The dew soaked into his boots as he walked across the lawn, the cold air sinking into his skin.

"Your majesty?" A servant approached him.

"What is it?"

"Prince Baudouin requests your presence at the front courtyard." Baudouin rarely sought after his younger brother via another person, unless something was wrong. And to meet at the front of the castle? That was strange. Perhaps he wished to hunt, or travel the streets of the Middle Ring. Either way, he did not want to keep him waiting. Moving through the White Palace of Couronne was easy for him, knowing almost every shortcut and path. Once there, Louen saw Baudouin waiting with a small host of men.

"Ah, the brave knight approaches!" the heir beamed. "I trust your slumber was adequate?"

"Most adequate," Louen answered. "To what do I owe the honour of this summons?" Baudouin waved the men away, who moved towards the stables.

"Now that you are a knight, you must serve the realm," Baudouin began, taking his younger brother under his arm and leading him around the courtyard. "This you know. But Bretonnia is a vast land, often you must travel fast and with haste."

"I will travel by horse." Louen shrugged.

"Horse!" Baudouin laughed, slapping his brother on the chest. "The prince of Bretonnia on a horse? Oh, my dearest brother. You are too humble. Only yeomen and squires travel on horseback. You are a prince! So you shall travel like one." The older brother turned his sibling to the direction of the stables. The group of men brought before them a snow-white mare. She stood taller than most horses, and her feet were covered in feathers.

"Lady…" Louen gasped, reaching out for the winged horse. She twitched her head back, but let the man rub her face. "Baudouin, thank you! This is truly a wonderful gift." Louen put one boot into the stirrup and lifted himself onto the pegasus' back. The beast shifted, but did not try to buck or thrown him off, clearly she had been trained by a professional.

"A pegasus!" shrieked a voice. All turned to see Leila coming down the stairs towards them. "What a beautiful creature." The beast seemed drawn to her, dropping her head so that the Damsel could reach the mane. The Leoncoeur brothers exchanged raised eyebrows, but let it pass.

"Louen here was just about to have his first flight," Baudouin explained. "You have experience with pegasi, do you not?"

"Yes my lord." Leila answered, the beast nuzzling against her. "All Damsels are trained to ride a pegasus."

"Maybe then she can teach you!" Baudouin beamed, helping the Damsel onto the steed. "He needs a teacher."

"Oh, I don't think that-" Louen started. Baudouin had seen these two fumble around each other for years. It was obvious that they had feelings for one another, so let them have some time together!

"Hold onto those reigns tight, boy," Baudouin gripped his brother's wrist. "It's not like any other horse."

* * *

As soon as Baudouin slapped the horse's rear, she began to thunder down the road. Louen was a skilled horseman, but as soon as the pegasus thrust out her wings, he knew he was in for a bad time. Great wing beats sent the three soaring into the air. Leila squealed lightly, holding onto Louen's waist tightly. The prince paid little attention to it, as his focus was on the flying horse. The pegasus cleared the forest and graced over the Upper Ring. It was not uncommon to see men riding pegasi in the Upper Ring, but with such recklessness was not. Louen and Leila struggled to hold onto the thrashing steed as she kicked the air, trying to assert dominance.

"Pull up!" Leila shrieked, pointing ahead. Louen jerked on the reigns, They _just_ managed to avoid crashing into somebody's residence. The horse galloped across the roof, shattering and dislodging several tiles in the process. "Where are you going?" The pegasus continued upwards, whinnying as they went higher and higher. Louen thought the wind was intense flying horizontally, but vertically was another matter entirely. The pressure of higher pressurised air and the pull of gravity made the blood drain from his head.

"Be assertive!" Leila managed to shout over the noise. "You must show that you're dominant!" Louen understood what she meant. When training an animal, one of the first things that you taught them was that you were the alpha. You are in charge and they are to obey you. Even though this pegasus had been trained and broken, she, like all animals, would try to dominate over a new creature, it was only nature after all. Louen used what fleeting strength he had before blacking out to push on the stirrups. The horse responded instantly, levelling out. As the pressures left them, both managed to catch their breath. Up in the air all seemed calm. The wind was non-existent, and the morning sun warmed them.

"This is much better," Louen smiled, looking back at his passenger. Leila smiled back, before they both laughed.

"I must admit, you had me very worried," Leila held herself against him. "Had we gone any further, I'd have fallen!"

"I would never let you come to any harm, my lady." Louen beamed, adjusting to the way that the winged horse's body shifted with each beat of her wings. Louen's stomach heaved when he looked down, seeing the city, port, and walls of the Upper and Middle Rings. "How high do you think we are?"

"A mile?" Leila guessed. "Probably more." From up here, the world looked so peaceful. Ships rolled through the waves, and people, no larger than ants, scurried across the city. Louen tapped the flying horse's sides, gearing her to start moving. Damsel Leila gave him instruction as they flew such as how to ascend and descend, change speed mid flight, among many things. Louen was a fast learner, absorbing her every word. For him, it was a time to create the bond with his steed, a crucial part of any partnership with a beast of the air. If there was no bond, what reason did the beast have not to buck you mid-flight and let you fall to your death? Pegasi, like the mighty griffin and demigryph, were fiercely loyal to their masters, but only once the bond was made.

"It is good I have a passenger who knows how to fly." Louen tried to look cack at her, but his saddle forbade it.

"You pegasus is waiting to see if you are a capable rider," Leila stroked it's side. "Fly wherever your heart takes you." Louen nodded, tugging on the reigns. The pegasus drifted downwards, over the Middle Ring. Soon they were gliding over the winding streets of the Middle Ring. The smells the city drifted up to them, making them both cringe. They flew on, descending to fly where the people could see their prince. Over the market district and down Cobbler's Lane, a street home to shoemakers, and they were in sight of the wall that separated the Middle and Lower Rings. The wall was several metres tall, and just as thick as it was high. The pegasus could sense Louen's direction, and ascended as soon as Louen gave direction. Leila gasped, holding on to Louen tightly. The pegasus' hooves clipped the wall, startling the bored guards. Leila laughed, their curses growing fainter as they shrank away in the distance. Using the sun as his compass, Louen steered the pegasus north, where they followed the coast. They flew for two hours more, drinking in the scenery and the touch of clouds. The beast soon tired, and they took refuge in a small, secluded bay.

"That was a most incredible experience," Leila smiled, dismounting with the help of the prince. "I cannot thank you enough for this chance."

"The pleasure is all mine," Louen replied, tying up his steed to a tree. "Were it not for you, I would have never gained control!" Leila smiled, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"I am just glad that I was of some assistance." The prince walked to the water's edge, breathing in the salty air.

"Have you been to a beach like this before, my lord?" Leila asked, joining him.

"Several years ago," Louen answered. "When me and my brother were children. Before…Orléans."

"I am so sorry." Leila sighed. She was oblivious to that sad fact, and it no doubt was a repressed memory for him. How the Damsel wanted to comfort him, and take away his pain. Leila and Louen had known each other since they were children, and she always thought the world of him. Her teachers often caught her spying on him at all times of the day, from his lessons with Maestro Lupine, to training with Grandmaster Victor.

"You know what, let's go swimming!" she announced, taking off her shoes and hair ties.

"What?" Louen gasped. "G-go for a swim?"

"Of course! It's been years since I've had the opportunity to!"

"But what if we are seen?" Louen objected. "It would not be right for-"

"Who cares what other people think?" Leila was dangerously close to him; she could see the pink growing on his cheeks. "Let's have fun like we used to when we were children!" Leila took started to untie the laces on her dress.

"Uh?" Louen grunted, in pure shock. Here was the young woman that he'd known since they were children, undressing before him. How many nights had he fantasised about this? Too many.

"No peeking," Leila giggled, her dress now around her shoulders. Louen snapped out of his trance and spun around, giving the Damsel privacy. Louen tried to distract himself from the noises of clothes rustling, jewellery clinking, and feet wading into the water.

"Most steeds have a name, don't they?" Leila asked. "Have you thought of one?"

"I have," the prince replied, stroking the winged horses' mane. "I think I shall name her-" Leila moaned as she fell into the water, breaking his train of thought. Louen stiffened up, in more ways than one. "I will name her Allura."

"Cliché name, isn't it?" Leila grinned from the water. "The name of the pegasus that will carry the Lady to the heavens in the End Times?" Louen kicked off his boots and coat, hanging them over the tree where Allura sheltered.

"I like the name," Louen replied, taking the thin cotton shirt off his shoulders. He turned to see Leila staring at his exposed chest, her face flushing. "Might I have the privacy I gave you, Madame Leila?"

"Oh! O-of course." Leila covered her eyes, though it was quite obvious that she still stared through the gap in her fingers. Louen did not mind at all, it was only for respect did he ask her to look avert her vision. Were they in private, he would let her stare at him all she wanted. Stripping down to his loincloth, the prince joined her in the water. Relishing as the cold against his cold skin, he waded up to his waist.

"I heard the strangest thing from the Maestro the other day," Louen started. "Maester Lupine told me that now that you are fifteen, you will start to learn magic! I could hardly believe it myself, there's no such thing as-"

"The Maester is correct," Leila said seriously, her shoulders bobbing above the waterline. "Would you like me to show you a spell?"

"You can't be serious," Louen scoffed as the young woman waded towards him. "There's no way that magic exis-"

"Close your eyes," Leila instructed, standing in front of him. Her hands touched his as she walked around him. "Focus on the sounds around you."

"Leila, please."

"Shush," the Damsel almost hissed, pressing a finger to his lips. "I must concentrate. Louen sighed, closing his eyes as instructed. The prince could hear her walking around him, mumbling a hex of some kind. Leila stopped behind him, reaching up and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Do you trust me?" she whispered, sending shivers up his spine.

"I do," Louen answered, gulping the lump of excitement and nervousness down.

"Good!" She grinned, jumping onto his shoulders with all her weight. Louen, not expecting the attack, dropped into the water like a rock. Leila burst into laughter as the prince burst from underneath the water, gaping for air.

"Treason!" he cried, glaring at her. "To attack me in such a way is punishable by one hundred splashings!" Louen's muscular arms pushed great waves of water onto the Damsel, who squealed as her hair became soaked. She retaliated, fighting back. The two laughed as they did battle with water, soaking the other as best they could.

"For Bretonnia!" Louen cried as he leaped out of the water and belly flopped right next to her. Leila shrieked as the impact sent her under. Allura opened one eye, watching the teenagers splash around like children. Leila emerged some seconds later, squirting Louen with water in her mouth.

"Gross," he laughed, turning over so that he floated looking at the sky. Leila joined him, and they both drifted around along the shore, occasionally bumping against each other or against the rocks.

"How long has it been since we played like this?" Leila asked, bobbing up and down with the movement of the water.

"Years," Louen answered. "Before you were sent to the Sanctuary to be trained as a Damsel. You were eight, if my memory serves correctly."

"That would mean you were only six," Leila nodded. "How those years have flown by. I used to be taller than you!" Leila chuckled, she could not help but smile at the memories of how she teased the prince. Louen pouted, remembering her treatment.

"And now I tower over you, how the tables have turned!" Louen reached for her hand, their fingers interlocking.

"How you enjoyed today, my lord?" Leila asked as the pair stood up, their feet touching the rocks.

"Today has been one I shall cherish for all my days," Louen smiled, looking at her sincerely. "Thank you." Their other hand connected as the pair drew close. Her hazel eyes flickered, observing how the sky and water made his blue eyes shine radiantly. Foreheads touched, hearts quickened. Louen could feel her shaky breath against him, their bodies touching. The damp cloth that covered her breasts pressed against his own chest. Louen looked into her eyes, begging for a sign. He knew his feelings for her, but did she feel the same? Looking into her eyes only made him drown in the abyss of her pupils.

"Louen…" she whispered, Their lips inching towards connection.

 _'Thank you, benevolent Lady for what I am about to experience.'_ Louen thought, puckering his lips. Just as they were about to kiss, the blare of a horn shocked their world.

"What was that?" Louen shot away, looking in all directions. Another horn responded, followed by several others.

"Look!" Leila pointed out towards the open ocean. "Ships." A fleet of waterborne vessels was traveling at speed, heading north. "Traders?"

"They aren't traders," Louen mumbled, wading deeper so he could see the ships better. "There are too many, and traders don't sail in a flying wedge." Louen counted at least fifteen ships, each big enough for a crew of thirty.

"Perhaps one of the Royarch's fleets?" Leila suggested, wringing her hair dry.

"Look at the sails. Bretonnian ships always have blue sails, not black." A fleet of foreign military ships moving at speed, a troubling sight."

"That sigil…" the Damsel gasped. Louen's eyes flared at the sight. A golden kraken. "They're Greyjoy!"


	4. Chapter 4: Around the Table

"We have to go," Louen instructed, grabbing Leila's hand and dragging her towards the shore. "Now!"

"Why?" Leila asked, holding back. "I doubt they've seen us."

"It's not about us," Louen answered, throwing his shirt on over his still soaking body. "If the Greyjoys have made it this far north, that means that the scouts didn't see them. That means that all the towns on the coast are vulnerable!" Louen squished into all of his clothes, the salt water ruining their pristine condition. Allura seemed to know something was wrong, and excitedly let the prince untie her.

"I will surely catch a cold like this…" Leila mumbled as she slipped her dress over her shoulders. Louen untied his cape and put it around her shoulders.

"This should keep you warm," smiled he. Louen waited until she was ready and helped her mount the steed.

"Are you okay?" Leila asked, helping Louen up.

"I'll be okay once we're back in Couronne," Louen answered, taking the reins in his hands. "Run Allura, show us the meaning of speed. Yah!" Louen whipped the reins and kicked the horse's sides. The pegasus whinnied in response and charged down the beach. Allura spread her great wings and beat them in time with each stride. When her feet started to skim the surface of the sand Louen pulled on the reins, sending them all skyward. As soon as they were airborne the trio flew on a beeline for the capitol of Bretonnia, not skirting the coast or looking at pretty sights like on their arrival to the cove. Leila looked at Louen's face. She did not see the carefree happy boy she once knew. His face was stern, a glare of pure determination.

' _He's making sure it never happens again,'_ Leila thought. _'He wants to make sure Orléans never happens again…'_ The blistering speeds that they were flying mixed with the cold of the seawater made Louen shiver uncontrollably. His body would soon get a cold, or worse, a fever. Any wise man would slow down and warm up. But not him, for king and country Louen would endure a thousand deaths. Such was the loyalty and courage of a Bretonnian knight. Leila tried to distract herself by eyeing the land underneath them. Bretonnia was a green land, with rolling hills and winding roads. Woods grew in abundance, home to wild deer, boar, and wolf. With summer on the eve the fields of wheat and barley were turning golden, ready for harvest. Hamlets dotted the country, the peasants working the fields and tending to the animals. Many towns were built around river crossings, crossroads, and chapels to the Lady. It had been a long-standing tradition for Bretonnian knights to reside near a chapel to the Lady and protect it. Peasants would flock to them for protection, establishing villages. Knights would join their brethren and allow for larger to towns to flourish. This was a system that had been going on for a thousand years. Yet the tiny villages came and went underneath them. Allura was running through the air as fast as a pegasus could fly. Leila clung to Louen so tight that she was suffocating him. The prince cared little for this though. Allura panted with each wing beat, only stopping to glide when they entered thermal winds that pushed them up. The walls of the Outer Ring crawled over the horizon. Walls of stone several metres tall and thick acted as a beacon for all travellers.

"Thank the Lady!" Leila sighed in relief. "We are safe in Couronne."

"We've more to travel," Louen shouted back as they glided across the wall. "There are some miles to go!" The barracks and fortresses below them were ablaze with activity. The furnaces burnt hot, tending to the soldier's weapons and armour. Some miles of empty fields led to another great wall, the Middle Ring. The usual smell of incense, smoke and faeces that stank up the Middle Ring was almost non-existent up where they were. People jostled through the streets, the crowds parting for wagons and horses. The wall of the Inner Ring was soon upon them. At last they were over the walls of the Inner Ring and among the aristocrats. Several pegasi flew lazily in the sky, the rich flaunting their wealth by parading around on their pets.

"Are you alright?" Louen asked, looking back at the Damsel, she nodded, holding him close. Her skin was pale and lips a tinge of blue. Because of his haste she was freezing, Louen's heart ached for her. As they approached the forest of trees that circled the White Palace, several knights on armoured steeds flew out to meet them. A necessary precaution, as few were allowed to fly over the Royarch's home. Recognising the prince they joined ranks with him helping guide him down. Allura hit the tiles hard, running several metres before she stopped.

"Stable my horse!" Louen barked at the waiting servants. "Take Lady Leila to the Damsel's wing now!"

* * *

Louen practically kicked down the door to the throne room as he barged in.

"Father!" Louen shouted. The people in the throne room, cleaning maids, lords, Damsels and knights all passing by, looked at the bedraggled and shivering prince in shock. Yet, there was no Royarch upon his throne. Where was he? Louen looked around the room, as if waiting for an explanation.

"Knight!" the prince turned to one of the many who guarded the sacred chamber. "Where is my father, your king?"

"The Royarch is in a meeting in the Tower of the Table, your -" Louen was running before the man had finished. Through several smaller walkways and even vaulting through a couple of windows led the prince to the Tower of the Table. Located exactly in the centre of Couronne, the Tower held one of the most important objects in Bretonnia. The Round Table. The Table was where the Royarch, Fey Enchantress, and chosen others met to run the country, and plan for times of great peril. Louen was allowed to enter the Tower, like most of the other lords and ladies, but few saw nothing more than the view from up atop the Tower. On the second highest level the stairs stopped and turned to a long hall. Louen did not stop, running straight for the guards at the door.

"Move!" Louen bellowed, charging for them. The paladins did not protest, either too alarmed or too bored to stop their prince. Louen barrelled through the door, falling flat on his face. The people who sat around the table gasped, standing to attention.

"What is the meaning of this!?" a knight roared. "Explain yourself boy!"

"Greyjoys!" Louen spluttered, scrambling up and dropping his knee in front of his father. "My lords, I bring dire news. An armada of Greyjoy ships managed to slip past our scouts. They're headed north as we speak!" The news brought mixed responses from the nobles sitting around the table. Many simply dismissed it, but others saw the truth of his words. Louen looked up to see the Table and those sitting around it. The Royarch sat with the Fey Enchantress on his left and Baudouin at his right. The other chairs were filled with the Grail Knights. The Grail Knights were the most revered and legendary of all Bretonnian knights. Having spent years questing for the glory of Bretonnia and the Lady, they had been given the honour of drinking from her Grail. In times of old it was thought that to drink from the Grail made you a saint, and many still revered the Grail Knights as such. The Grail Knights were the Royarch's closest allies and trusted advisors. They owned and protected many of the provinces, watching over their flock. Maestro Lupine and Grandmaster Victor besides Baudouin and the Fey, filled the only chairs unoccupied by Grail Knights.

"How many ships were there?" One of the Knights asked. Louen knew the man who questioned him. Lord Albric d'Bordeleaux was in charge of the second largest city in the country, and one of Charlemagne's oldest friends. A brutal and cunning man, he was a great asset to the Royarch's court.

"At least fifteen," Louen answered. "Each big enough to man a crew of over thirty." More murmurs around the table, mostly concern and anger.

"Rise, my son." Royarch Charlemagne answered. "Take a seat." Baudouin's face lit up, but almost everyone else protested.

"It is forbidden!" one of the Grail Knights protested. "Only the Royarch and his heir may sit at the table!"

"Any more than two members of the royal family and it would be sacrilegious," another added. Even the Fey Enchantress seemed against the idea. Louen was flabbergasted at the thought. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought of sitting side by side with the champions of Bretonnia!

"Have we not open chairs?" Charlemagne bellowed, silencing the Knights. Louen had spied two empty chairs in between Victor and Lord d'Bordeleaux. "Never once has a chair of the Table been unoccupied, let Louen take place for one of the absent."

"I assume this will only be until another of the Grail Knights is chosen?" Maestro Lupine asked. "I think if that is the case then I will approve." The wisdom of a Maester was always appreciated, and the Knights listened with eagerness.

"Though Louen may only be a boy, I think this might be a chance for him to prove himself!" Victor spoke, looking at his apprentice kindly. "All of you knights believe that-"

"This has nothing to do with you, heretic!" one of the Grail Knights spat. "Why do we even let your filth in here?"

"Ser Gawain, Grail Knight of the Burgundy Hold." Victor replied. "You despise people who are clearly devoted to helping you. Were it not for my organisation of heretics your entire province would have been exterminated by cholera!" Many in Bretonnia had a deep hatred for the Witch Hunters. Laws of church or state did not hold them back, only what the Royarch said prevented them from doing what they wished. Victor's organisation had only held a seat at the table in the last decade, and the Grail Knights were still unhappy.

"Enough you two," Royarch Charlemagne grumbled. "Prince Louen has brought us dire news that we must address." Louen could feel every eye in the room turn to him. "If they have sent a fleet that large, it can only mean that they wish to invade Tilea."

"A city we cannot afford to lose," Maestro Lupine mumbled, scratching his beard.

"Agreed!" Albric d'Bordeleaux slammed his fist on the table. "I will take it upon myself to rid the word of these vermin, only say the word!"

"No," the Royarch shook his head. "I have other plans for you. Louen!" the prince almost jumped out of his seat hearing his name barked. "This will be left to your responsibility."

" _Mon_ Royarch?" Louen gulped, looking at his father.

"I shall have a group of knights assigned to be your entourage. Use them as you will." The Royarch heard no more on the matter, turning to the map that lay in the centre of the table. Just looking at the map told you it was made by a Bretonnian. When the War of the Usurper began, House Leoncoeur and Bretonnia rallied to their age old ally, the Targaryens. In doing so they betrayed their other friends, Stark, Baratheon, Frey and Lannister. Robert Baratheon made a point to the defeated by burning every trace of Bretonnian knowledge, culture and ideals in Westeros as a way of ultimately severing the two countries. That was why most did not know about the mystical land. Where most people thought there was ocean south on the south tip of Cape Kraken, was the start of the Blue Mountains. The roots of the Blue Mountains grew deep, and stretched higher than any could climb. They separated the lands of Westeros and Bretonnia. The Blue Mountains stretched for hundreds of leagues, past the Twins, Casterly Rock, and Highgarden. The Blue Mountains receded into the sea north of Oldtown, baring people trekking into the land from the south. "What other matters are there in the realm?"

"I have heard reports of strange lights and noises at night in the mires near Caen," Maestro Lupine answered. "The peasants have been seen to go in, but not out again."

"Baudouin, how would you handle this?" Charlemagne asked, turning to him.

"I'll be honest father, I know not what should be done." The heir answered, shrugging. Baudouin, like Albric, was a warrior, not a thinker. "Perhaps it is witchcraft?"

"Then we know who should deal with such a problem!" Louen piped up, much to the annoyance of the Grail Knights who disliked him. "Right, Grandmaster?"

"Right you are!" Victor Saltzpyre nodded, smiling at Louen. "My king. If you shall let me, I shall send some agents to sterilise the swamps and investigate whatever the mysterious lights and noises are."

"I am in ascent," Royarch Charlemagne nodded, stroking his beard. "Does anyone know _why_ two chairs at the Table are empty?" Even though Louen occupied one of the chairs that the Royarch spoke of, he knew that his presence here was only temporary.

"I do, my lord." Albric answered, raising his hand. "Tael Duschane occupied one of the chairs, and now he sits in your dungeon!" Lord Gawain and the other Grail Knights laughed, even the Royarch couldn't help but smile. "But I do know of Lord de Montfort." The Grail Knights leaned in, curious as to what kept their friend. Not even the fields of battle would keep a knight from his seat at the Table. Simon de Montfort was like Albric d'Bordeleaux, they had served Royarch Charlemagne from a young age, and saw him not only as king, but friend.

"Where is Simon?" Charemagne asked, watching his friend's face. The man sighed, scratching his head. "Albric?"

"Tael did not act alone," Albric confessed. "A third the lords of Bretonnia have risen up in rebellion."

* * *

Rebellion. A word that many knew but few spoke of. You could count the number of rebellions in Bretonnia on one hand. Only one of them had ever been successful. Most who were not happy with things never rebelled, too fearful of the repercussions: excommunication, torture, and the extermination of their entire family. Royarch Charlemagne began to shake, his pale skin turning red. No matter what you came from: Westeros, Essos, Sothoryos, or Bretonnia, treason was the greatest offence one could make. Bretonnians took it much more seriously, because of how highly they valued honour and chivalry. The old king roared, throwing the papers in front of him on the floor as he paced the room furiously.

"How dare they betray me!" Charlemagne snarled. "I am their king. The protector of their lands, the one who gives them aid! Were it not for me they would be slaves for the _Lannisto!"_ Despite slavery being forbidden in the Seven Kingdoms, the Lannisters would make an exemption for their age-old enemy, like the Royarch accused.

"The entire south, west and southeast regions are against us," Albric continued. "We must act, and fast!"

"You are correct!" Gawain nodded. "If Carcassonne has turned against us then that means that we have no way to reinforce the Bergentrückung!" Even Louen, a teenager knew what the Bergentrückung was. All the mountain passes that led into Bretonnia were fortified and patrolled by the Bretonnian knights. The Bergentrückung was the largest of all forts, housing hundreds of soldiers. However it was only a few leagues from Casterly Rock, the heart of the Lannister principality. Because of this the fortress was under constant siege, but her ancient and thick walls holding off every assault. The men inside were able to hold the Bergentrückung so well because they had a constant supply of food, medicine, soldiers and weapons from Carcassonne. Without that they would not last more than a month.

"I say we rally what forces we have and destroy these traitors!" one of the Grail Knights shouted. The other Knights hollered their support, smacking their fists on the table. The Fey was silent, soothing the enraged king. Baudouin seemed to be caught up in the excitement of the thought of war, and joined in the cries for blood.

"You cannot!" Louen protested. His cry was ignored by the Lords' cries for war and punishment of the traitors. "Lords, we must take caution!" They continued to ignore him. Maestro Lupine seemed to cover his ears, as if the noise pained his weary ears. Victor looked upon the prince's futile attempts to have his voice heard. Louen looked to his mentor, his voice strained from the effort of calling to them. Victor took a strange apparatus from his belt, covered his ear, and pulled the trigger. A deafening bang and ringing echoed through the tower, causing the raucous knights to groan and cover their ears. Many of them growled insults at the Witch Hunter, who shrugged as the noise faded.

"Apologies, my lord," Victor bowed to the Royarch. "There is much to discuss, and I deemed it necessary to silence the noise.

"By deafening us!" Baudouin grumbled, glaring at the Witch Hunter. "Say what you must then, and be gone!"

"Let the man speak, son," the Royarch grumbled. "However I shall be having words with you later about your methods, Victor."

"Of course," The Witch Hunter sat down. "Now, if I might be so wise as to let Louen have his say? I believe that there is something that the prince has observed that you clearly have not." All eyes turned to him. Louen was never comfortable being the centre of attention. Being in the spotlight made his stomach churn. For all his bravado, Louen was terrified deep down.

"Y-you can't fight," Louen managed to blurt out.

"Oh? And why not?" Sir Gawain scoffed.

"Because! Almost half of Bretonnia's armies have turned against each other. Even _if_ you manage to slaughter them all, what will be left? A fraction of our men would still be alive. If the Lannisters attacked us then, we'd have no hope of surviving." Victor nodded, piecing together Louen's argument.

"What would you suggest?" Royarch Charlemagne hummed, leaning forward.

"Fight not a battle of swords and arrows, but a battle of attrition. Besiege their castles and starve them out. When their leaders come out to surrender, kill them and replace them with our own. Then add their soldiers to your army and end this rebellion!" Louen was almost panting as a rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins. Maester Lupine coughed, wanting to break the silence.

"There is no way to know if the men will betray us or not," Albric d'Bordeleaux shook his head. "I say we kill them all!"

"As do I," Gawain nodded, slamming his fist on the table.

"These aren't sheep or pigs you're talking about," the Fey Enchantress scolded. "These are people! Men who blindly follow their lord because they don't know better!" Voices rung out in the room as they Grail Knights and other members of the Table began to argue. Several wanted to execute them all. Others wanted to show mercy. Even the old Maester tried to voice his opinion, however his frail voice could not keep up with the younger men's shouting. Only Charlemagne seemed to keep out of it, who took a long drink from his glass of wine. Eventually the Royarch stood up, silencing all there.

"I thank you for your enthusiasm, but my decision is made," the old king announced. "You will only execute those who do not swear fealty to me. Kill the lords who betrayed me, and their families." The Knights of the Table seated themselves, angered at how their opinion had been dismissed.

"It will be done, my Royarch," Albric bowed his head. "However this might be hard for my army to accomplish alone. The castle cities of Myrmidens, Carcassonne, Lyonesse, Mousillon, Miragliano, Luccini, and Bourguile are all amongst those that have rebelled." Royarch Charlemagne nodded slowly, scratching his beard.

"Baudouin, you will take an army to join the crusade." Louen gasped, gaping. His brother was a general!?

"Yes, father," Baudouin nodded. "Beaquis will feast on their skulls!"

"I shall dedicate my men as well!" Lord Gawain proclaimed. "Each has sworn fealty to you, and now they shall know what it means to serve the Leoncoeurs!" The Royarch smiled, glad that these men were still loyal to him.

"Lords Gaheris and Percival, I want you to rally with General Moreau and work your way south via the eastern holds." Royarch Charlemagne instructed. "Lords Gawain and Baudouin will escort Albric to Bordeleaux where his fleets will blockade the cities on the coast. Your armies will starve them out via land." The respective Grail Knights nodded, placing their fists across their chest. "Prince Louen will take his men and destroy the Greyjoy fleet. You all leave at dawn. Dismissed!"

* * *

From the window of the White Palace, Louen could see the entire city. The lights of hundreds of furnaces lit up the dark. They had been glowing for days on end. The campaign that Royarch Charlemagne had ordered required days of work. Sharpening blades, tempering lances, nailing horseshoes, and polishing armour. Louen had eaten his fill, said his prayers and read an entire book. But for the life of him, sleep would not come. It was so quiet, the gentle breeze doing nothing to soften the sound of distant hammers on metal. _The Deep Breath Before the_ Plunge, that's what many knights called the tense silence before combat. Louen had already been in one battle, and he didn't want to be in another. Waiting on the edge of one he couldn't escape was worse. Louen paced, his feet pattering on the marble floor. Louen was a knight, and prince of the realm. For his people he must fight. But deep down he was terrified. Louen never wanted to fight! Baudouin was the warrior while he was the scholar. Was the country in such peril that he would be sent out like this? Thoughts like this ran so loud in his head that Louen didn't even notice the figure enter his chamber.

"What troubles you?" the voice whispered. Louen gasped, spinning around.

"Leila!?" Louen jumped. "What're you doing here? How did the guards-"

"They let me in," she cooed, placing the candle carrier she held on the table by his bed. Leila wore nothing but a simple white gown, her long midnight hair rolling into the darkness. "You are troubled, my lord. What is wrong?" Louen sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Honestly? I'm terrified." The prince answered. "I've already been through one battle, and I don't want to do it again. This time, there are hundreds, of not thousands of people counting on me! If I fail then-" Leila put a finger to his lips, much to his surprise.

"Louen, you need not fear," the Damsel smiled, their bodies touching. "All your other friends, your brother, and the Witch Hunter have given you their gift after your knighthood. I have yet to endow you with mine." Louen's heart raced as her hands slipped into his. His cheeks burned red at the sight of this woman looking up at him with those emerald eyes. Her hands grabbed his neck and pulled his head down. Their lips met, and his world lit up. Minutes seemed to pass as they stood there in their kiss, feelings of love, fear, and excitement taking control.

"Leila?" Louen looked at her, his heart thumping in his chest.

"I give to you Louen," replied she. "I give to you what no other can ever have. I give to you the Maiden's Kiss." The Leoncoeur had not time to relpy before she was on his lips again. Louen's hands ran across her shoulders, catching every inch of her silk dress. Leila gasped as his hand traced the curve of her back, following the spine's bumps. Louen could feel her pushing against him, as if she were a ravenous wolf tearing into the prey. The duo fell onto the bed, wrapped in each other's exploring arms. Their hands touched, explored, every inch of their bodies was made to feel the other person. Their clothes gradually were lost to the floor, and they explored what they had always dreamed of. Her soft gentle breasts. His toned, hard chest. Leila cried when his hands went lower, where her legs met her torso. He was slow. Gentle. Leila was nervous and timid at first, wincing with each touch. The night stretched on as the two exchanged years of pent up feelings unto another.

* * *

The knock came at his door before the sun was up. Louen's eyes darted open, watching his squires shuffle in. The prince put a finger to his lips, urging them not to wake the sleeping Damsel. Louen turned to the sleeping Leila, her body lost in his embrace. Looking at her sent chills down his spine, remembering what had transpired the night before. Louen placed a kiss upon her head before letting the squires guide him to a separate room. They bathed him and let him eat before they dressed him in armour. Over a thick shirt and pantaloons they dressed Louen in a full-length hauberk and strapped him in great pieces of plate armour. Emblazoned on his chest was the sigil of House Leoncouer, the pegasus and griffin. The final touches to his gear were a wine red and royal blue cape, and a circlet of gold around his head. Louen took a deep sigh, as he looked hat himself in the mirror. He looked like a warrior, a champion of the people. Louen walked out towards the stables, his metal boots clanking against the stone floors. Maids and servants bowed as he passed, mumbling their prayers for him.

"My lord, the rest of your entourage is waiting for you at the military academy in the Outer Ring," a knight bowed slightly as the prince approached. "We shall join them there." Allura had been saddled and encased in armour. Metal plates were covered in thick padding decorated with the Leoncoeur sigil. A litter was being carried down towards the rest of the Upper Ring. Louen and his guards followed. Louen's breath was foggy as it came out, the fast pace clearly showing his fear. All he could think about was how dizzy he felt.

"The Lady will protect you!" A man shouted as they rode past. Louen was brought back to reality. The citizens of the Upper Ring lined the streets, laying flowers before the feet of their prince.

"Bring honour to us all," another said. The aristocrats and nobles applauded and prayed as Louen passed. The day after he was knighted, their prince was off to battle to defend the kingdom. In the eyes of the people, Louen must have looked like a champion, the paragon of Bretonnia. As they passed through to the Middle Ring, it was no different. The masses filled every window and alley to look at the prince. A swell of pride filled the young man's chest, and he held his head high. It was not long before the entourage met up with the marching horde of soldiers, who marched behind Louen and the litter. Shouts of encouragement and praise echoed just as loud as the metal boots of a thousand men. The metal gates of the Middle Ring lay open for the soldiers to march through. Louen always looked in awe at the incredible construction of walls so thick and high. Marching underneath them today was no different. A stones throw away from the gate was a stone fort, where Louen and the litters came to a stop. from them exited Estella, Royarch Charlemagne, and Grandmaster Victor. The armies that marched past were uncountable in size. Foot soldiers, archers, mounted knights, towering artillery. The most impressive sights were the legions of knights on pegasai and demigryph. Estella pointed at the beasts, shouting in excitement.

"I want to pat the demigriffin!" she cried.

"It is pronounced demigryph," Charlemagne corrected. "When you are older." Louen dismounted as he spotted his brother.

"Did you sleep soundly?" Louen asked.

"I heard that you did more than sleep," Baudouin winked. "A congratulations is in order, little brother." Louen blushed, shrugging. A raspy squawk alerted Louen to the beast that his brother held onto. A griffin that stood taller than any horse. Its body was pure muscle in the form of a feathered lion. Each of its talons had been sharpened and lined with steel. The griffon boasted huge plates of golden armour that took several men to lift.

"You have a…" Louen started, in awe.

"His name is Beaquis, the fury of the sky!" An appropriate name, for such a fearsome looking beast. "I tamed him a few months ago." Beaquis' eyes pierced Louen's soul, shaking him to the core. Louen felt himself drawn to the beast, as if it was trying to talk to him.

"May Beaquis always carry you to safety," Louen bowed. It was a traditional blessing amongst the Bretonnians who possessed a steed, no matter if it could fly or not.

"And may Allura be swift of wing!" Baudouin returned the gesture. Both brothers looked at each other sadly. They had rarely been separated, and now they were going to war. Baudouin wouldn't be able to protect his brother, and Louen couldn't watch his brother's back. The two princes crashed together in a hug, their chest plates clanking together. Baudouin squeezed Louen into his chest, like a limpet would a rock.

"I'm scared," Louen whispered, admitting his fears.

"I know," Baudouin replied. "But you're strong. You're smart and brave." They parted, still holding onto each other's elbows. "You're going to be alright. Just remember what I taught you about using a sword."

"Stick 'em with the pointy end!" Louen joked. Baudouin laughed as they parted so that he could hug his sister and father. He kept his goodbyes short, as he was needed at the front of the army. Beaquis shifted excitedly as his master mounted the beast, the plates clinking together.

"Remember today, little brother." Baudouin said, giving Louen one final look. "Today, life is good." Beaquis spread his mighty wings and leapt skywards. Dust flew in all directions as the griffin began his ascent. Baudouin Leoncoeur soared towards the direction the army marched, growing smaller by the second.

"My lord?" a knight in armour spoke up. "Your men await your direction." Thirty armoured knights and pegasi were waiting for him, sitting ready on their steads.

"I shall be one minute," Louen nodded. The prince approached his tearful sister, letting her run into his open arms.

"I don't want you to go," Estella mewled, tears rolling down her face. "I don't want you to-"

"Hey," Louen cooed, gently rocking her. "I shall be gone only a few days, a week at maximum." Louen gave her a tight, reassuring squeeze before moving onto his father.

"I expect that Greyjoy fleet to be scuppered," the Royarch grunted.

"Yes, _mon Royarch_ ," Louen nodded. "I live to serve."

"Try not to get yourself killed," Charlemagne grunted. "I've some use for you." The Royarch left him, returning to his litter.

"Not so much as a goodbye from your father as you go to war," Victor Saltzpyre sighed. "I apologise on his behalf."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," Louen shook his head, though he was resentful. Charlemagne had given Baudouin a full embrace and words of encouragement. Louen never received such things.

"You forgot this," Victor pushed his rapier into Louen's chest. "Not the usual weapon for you snooty knights, but it's a good blade!" Louen slapped Victor on the shoulder, returning to Allura and strapping it to her.

"Thank you, Grandmaster."

"And make a speech!" Victor shouted as he and the princess entered a litter. "A few words can rally an army!" Louen looked away for a second and they were gone. For the first time in his life, he was truly alone. Fear ebbed though Louen's body like poison.

"My lord?" the same knight from before queried. "We must be off."

"You are correct," Louen nodded, mounting Allura. The prince turned to the group of men that were to be his personal guard from this moment on. "Gentlemen! You were chosen for this mission because you are the best Bretonnia has to offer! Whom do you fight for?"

"For the Lady!" the knights chorused in unison.

"There are heathens who reave and rape our lands as we speak. Let's show them what Bretonnians are made of!"


End file.
